In the ’86 Parliament there was a certain Member, sitting on the Conservative side, who had the objectionable habit of removing his boots (spring-sided ones, too!) in the House, and of sitting in a pair of very dubious-coloured grey woollen socks, apparently much in want of the laundress’s attentions.  Many Members strongly objected to this practice, but the delinquent persisted in it, in spite of protests.  One night a brother of mine, knowing that there would shortly be a Division, succeeded in purloining the offending boots by covering them with his “Order paper,” and got them safely out of the House.  He hid them behind some books in the Division Lobby, and soon after the Division was called.  The House emptied, but the discalced legislator retained his seat.  “A Division having been called, the honourable Member will now withdraw,” ordered Mr. Speaker Peel, most awe-inspiring of men.  “Mr. Speaker, I have lost my boots,” protested the shoeless one.  “The honourable Member will at once withdraw,” ordered the Speaker for the second time, in his sternest tones; so down the floor of the House came the unfortunate man—­hop, hop, hop, like the “little hare” in Shock-headed Peter.  The iron ventilating gratings were apparently uncomfortable to shoeless feet, so he went hopping and limping through the Division Lobby, affording ample glimpses of his deplorably discoloured woollen footwear.  Later in the evening an attendant handed him a paper parcel containing his boots, the attendant having, of course, no idea where the parcel had come from.  This incident effectually cured the offender of his unpleasant habit.  The accusation of neglecting his laundress may have been an unfounded one.  In my early youth I was given a book to read about a tiresome little girl named Ellen Montgomery, who apparently divided her time between reading her pocket-Bible and indulging in paroxysms of tears.  The only incident in the book I remember is that this lachrymose child had an aunt, a Miss Fortune, who objected on principle to clean stockings.  She accordingly dyed all Ellen’s stockings dirt-colour, to save the washing.  It would be charitable to assume that this particular Member of Parliament had an aunt with the same economical instincts.

I must plead guilty to two episodes where my sole desire was to avoid disappointment to others, and to prevent the reality falling short of the expectation.  One was in India.  Barrackpore, the Viceroy of India’s official country house, is justly celebrated for its beautiful gardens.  In these gardens every description of tropical tree, shrub and flower grows luxuriantly.  In a far-off corner there is a splendid group of fan-bananas, otherwise known. as the “Traveller’s Palm.”  Owing to the habit of growth of this tree, every drop of rain or dew that falls on its broad, fan-shaped crown of leaves is caught, and runs down the grooved stalks of the plant into receptacles that cunning Nature has fashioned just where the stalk